


Dean Winchester and the Green River Redemption

by dimeliora



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Fingerfucking, M/M, Prison Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 14:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2154285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam loves Dean, and he truly believes that loving a person means forgiving them their faults. Usually. Right now though it means marking his brother up and showing him who owns him. Set in 2x19.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean Winchester and the Green River Redemption

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merakieros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merakieros/gifts).



> This was done for merakieros, who drew the most incredible picture, and it needed words.

There’s a particular tilt to Dean’s smile that always tells Sam when danger is coming. He knows it the way he knows the moles on his own face or the weaknesses of every monster they’ve ever hunted. His extensive experience with Dean grinning his way through trouble tells him that this plan has gone from stupid to stupendously dangerous in just the few seconds it took for Dean to get that grin.

“What the hell have you got planned Dean? Isn’t it bad enough you agreed to let us get arrested?”

Dean slaps Sam’s shoulder once, none too lightly he might add, and then goes back to transferring the cardboard tube he just got in the mail into a small bag with the supplies he’s trying to smuggle in. Sam studies the bag for a long time before he realizes that Dean has never given him a real answer. Instead his brother has focused solely on packing the gear.

And the mysterious tube.

It’s not like Dean tells him all the time what he’s planning. In fact the exact opposite is true, because Dean is terrible at plans. His brother is excellent at flying off the cuff, working with what he has to adapt to a situation as it evolves around him. But planning ahead? It always ends up biting Dean in the ass. Which is probably why Sam is so concerned about this whole thing. Well, the secondary reason Sam is concerned about the two of them allowing themselves to be _arrested by police officers_.

“Dean, I’m serious. What exactly is the bag for?”

Dean zips the bag up, smile still firmly fixed and eyes roving from place to place in the room as he takes in all their remaining stuff and catalogs what should or shouldn’t be left out.

“Deacon’s gonna give me a few toys once we’re on the inside. I told you I had a plan.”

Sam wants so badly to laugh at Dean, because he knows that this is going to be future ammunition. That there’s no way in hell his brother’s plan will actually work, although for the life of him Sam can’t think of what exactly it is that will go wrong. The list is too long and varied. Instead he simply nods in the most condescending manner he possibly can before he starts repacking his clothes to store in the Impala.

“So how exactly are we getting arrested this time?”

Dean’s smile gets worse, and Sam wonders if maybe there’s enough time to just leave Arkansas completely and get out of this whole thing before it spins out of control.

He should have known that the moment Dean came up with his stupid plan it was _already_ out of control.

 

\----

 

Sam isn’t exactly sure what concerns him more. The fact that his brother seamlessly fits into the prison world, or that this revelation doesn’t seem to surprise Dean at all. A part of it is that his brother is a chameleon. Has always been good at merging into the crowd in the interest of getting by, or taking on the role that will get them their answers most efficiently. It’s not true in some situations, he still remembers how incredibly out of place Dean was at the art gallery, but his brother can cover those moments with the right smile directed at the right person.

In a pinch, Dean’s flirting can cover for Dean’s lack of etiquette.

But this doesn’t seem like a role. It’s not Dean playing a part from a movie no matter how many pop culture references he has that relate back to being imprisoned. Instead it is simply Dean, being Dean, in a place where that is just the right thing to be. And now they’re in their cell, and Sam is looking around it and trying to contain the slight thread of panic.

This is real. They’re in _prison_. It’s moments like these in which Sam thinks back to when this whole thing started, when he was a pre-law student with an excellent LSAT score and a girlfriend. A whole future laid out in front of him of trying to keep people from going to a place just like this.

It’s the size of it that really brings home to Sam how serious this whole thing is. How fucking dangerous their little ploy has become. After Milwaukee you would think they’d know to stay off the radar, but instead they’ve gotten themselves locked in a cell with their fingerprints on file yet again and updated mug shots. Hiding is going to be so much harder now. Vaguely he remembers how disdainful Dean had been of the police artist sketch once upon a time.

How incredibly lucky they were then, when it was just the impression of them and not a real fucking picture.

Dean is walking the small space, eyeing the bunks and dropping his bedroll on the top one as if he’s really settling in. Nesting. And it’s like it doesn’t even bother him that Sam can hear the doors to regaining his plans slamming shut as they stand there.

“You want top Sammy? I just figured I’d take top.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and Sam considers hitting him. That’s how prison reputations are built right? Beating someone up? Sam is pretty sure he needs to go after someone with more rep than Dean for that to work, but starting right here and now on his brother couldn’t possibly hurt him.

“I don’t care. When are we meeting Deacon?”

Dean eyes him for a second, something shifting in his brother’s gaze that tells Sam Dean is trying to read him and not caring for what he’s getting. And fuck that, because Dean can read whatever he wants into Sam’s words and actions. Sam is pissed.

Really pissed.

It’s like this is all a fucking joke to Dean. The whole thing from being deloused on their way in to the scratchy orange jumpsuits that they’ve been forced to wear.

“In the showers. We just gotta get some chow, and then after that we’ll head over and he’ll pass us the gear. Then we start hunting.”

Sam licks his lips and sets his bedroll up on the bottom bunk. He doesn’t miss the way Dean studies him, or how Dean’s eyes linger on his hips. The jumpsuit is an awkward fit there, and Sam is pretty annoyed with himself for slouching when they measured him.

“In the showers. The group showers Dean? With the fungus we don’t have flip flops to avoid? _Those_ showers?”

Dean laughs and then leans against the wall next to the seatless toilet that Sam is already wanting to rub his ass just looking at.

“So finicky Samantha. Don’t worry, your hair is going to come out looking just fine.”

It’s so hard not to hit Dean. So incredibly hard.

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

 

\---

 

The food, if it can be called that, is a lump in Sam’s stomach. Dean has already gotten into a fight, and Sam spent the first night in jail alone on the bottom bunk. Now his brother is back, and talking about watching the other prisoner die as if it hasn’t occurred to him that they are _locked in here with it_. To make things worse when Deacon handed over the bag he admitted, with a pretty guilty face to be fair, that there were a number of things he had to take out in case Dean and Sam’s cell gets tossed in an inspection. Apparently they were trying to bring in unacceptable contraband. The fact that Deacon thought they didn’t know that makes Sam worry for Deacon’s sanity.

Sam hates it here. He hates that his legs are too long for the bunk, he hates that if things get really bad with this hunt they have nowhere to go, and now Special Agent Victor Henriksen has been added to the mix.

And Dean. Fucking Dean. Fucking Dean is gloating about the fact that he managed to get lighter fluid and salt in a controlled environment like a prison. Because of course he would. Sam would shoot his brother’s ego down if it weren’t the fact that it really is a testament to Dean’s flexibility and ingenuity. Plus, and Sam will never admit this, he has a pretty strict series of rules in place to never ruin Dean being proud of something he actually did.

He knows all too well how fragile Dean’s self-esteem really is under that swaggering veneer.

But that doesn’t change the fact that Dean is way, _way_ too happy with himself in this setting. That Dean is totally ignoring how utterly fucked they are in this very moment.

“You know we can’t get out of this right? That we’ve officially painted ourselves into a corner? Henriksen is here. We’ve got smuggled lighter fluid and salt packets. If we were any less prepared we would have come in here naked and painted in ghost attracting sigils.”

Dean pulls the cardboard tube out of the bag, and Sam feels a small spark of hope that his brother has brought something really useful for the two of them. Something that Deacon couldn’t take exception to. It would be just like Dean to hold an ace up his sleeve until Sam was right at the end of his rope.

He watches as Dean pops the plastic cap and then pulls out a rolled up poster. That’s when Sam knows that things are about to get ugly. That the sympathy he felt for the swollen part of Dean’s face, the pride he had for Dean’s ingenuity, and the ever lingering and irrepressible fondness Sam feels for Dean are nothing compared to how incredibly fucking pissed off he is in that moment.

It’s the kind of anger Sam is pretty sure you can only feel for someone you really love. Obsessively love.

Because Dean is putting a poster of Rita Hayworth, the same one that graced the wall of Andy Dufresne’s cell and hid the hole he was digging, up above the top bunk as if he’s planning on making this his room. As if this is all permanent.

Dean has never once decorated a motel room with anything other than hunt notes and maps. No matter how long they planned on staying. They were only supposed to be here for a few nights, and Dean is fucking _decorating_. Dean bought the poster ahead of time, and then smuggled it into the prison to make their cell _homier_.

Suddenly it hits Sam, much like a cartoon character with a light bulb going off over their head, and he clenches his jaw in reaction to the revelation. It’s not that Dean got them in trouble because that’s nothing new, and it’s not that Dean is enjoying this because Dean always enjoys a challenge and Sam has always appreciated that aspect of his brother’s personality.

No. It’s the fact that Dean fits in somewhere Sam doesn’t. That Dean finds comfort in a place that makes Sam uncomfortable and slightly claustrophobic. It’s that Dean is supposed to be in this together with Sam, that Dean is Sam’s only future, and yet he can fit so well in some place like this. Sam threw Stanford and everything that went with it away. He gave all of it up originally for Dean, and then for Dean and vengeance, and now he’s pretty sure it was always just for Dean.

But Dean isn’t as dependent as Sam. Dean can fit in other places. Dean can make a home somewhere else and grab a future with someone else. Dean can _be_ someone else. All Sam can be is Dean’s.

His brother is smoothing Rita over the stone wall, pressing the corners to make sure the sticky tack holds the poster up, and there’s a little smile on his face that says he’s quite please with his actions. Quite pleased with everything really.

Sam didn’t think it was possible, but when he gets up on the top bunk and pushes Dean forward into the wall it’s smooth and graceful. Dean’s alarms never go off. Instead his brother is taken by total surprise, face pressed against the rough stone next to the poster and eyes wide from the profile view that Sam has.

“Sammy? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He presses his face into the back of Dean’s neck and takes a deep breath, and finds that his anger is only increased by the fact that Dean smells different. His brother is already beginning to smell less like home, the diner grease of road food and the leather of Baby, and more like the stone and sweat that characterizes Green River Detention Center.

Dean is already slipping away from him. Becoming a part of this whole thing in a way Sam has never seen before. The jumpsuit isn’t like the stiff and formal fed suits or the priest costumes or any of the other uniforms they’ve worn in the interest of being a part of the authority, of gaining answers that lead them to the truth and that heroic moment when they can put the hunt behind them and collapse into bed together.

No, his brother is acting like someone who has finally found his real niche. And it’s not _Sam’s_ niche, and that’s unacceptable. Dean is Sam’s future, and he’ll be damned if Dean forgets that Sam is his right back.

“Reminding you who you belong to. Isn’t that obvious?”

Dean laughs, low and deep in his chest, and then his face changes from shocked to aggressive in a second. Playing along because it’s obvious his brother hasn’t figured out that Sam isn’t joking around. That this isn’t some ridiculous game that he’s pulled out in the interest of novel sex.

He can almost hear Dean’s thought process. Can hear Dean thinking that this is something exciting and new. The only place Sam can think of that Dean _didn’t_ push for the porn setting sex was the airplane, and that was only because sheer terror turned out to be the one thing that could cap his brother’s libido.

Sam would laugh at how much of a surprise Dean is in for if he wasn’t too interested in making Dean’s laughter dry up first.

“Sammy, you know I love it when you take control but people can see through the bars.”

Another deep breath, a slight rub of his nose against Dean’s neck right where the hair ends and the bare skin begins, and then Sam sucks Dean’s skin. Hard.

Listens with joy as his brother gasps in shock and tries to pull forward and twist away. But Sam isn’t interested in letting Dean go. He doesn’t care about giving his brother an out or making this something Dean can turn into another joke or a part of his prison persona/fantasy.

Sam is interested in owning Dean completely, from the inside out, and since he knows that he already does that he’s interested in teaching _Dean_ that it’s the truth. That Dean has no other future than Sam no matter where they may end up.

Dean’s still grinning a little bit even as he tries to turn around, but Sam keeps him pressed to wall with his hips, knees dug into the bunk to keep leverage and pressure, and uses one hand to pulls Dean’s ass back into him more firmly, and the other to start popping the snaps of the jumpsuit.

His brother, his ridiculous brother, is not wearing a shirt underneath the prison issued suit. Sam figures it out instantly when his fingers start brushing skin unimpeded, and he could thank Dean for making this so easy if his mouth wasn’t busy sucking a bruise into Dean’s shoulder and nipping at the skin through the orange material.

When this is over he’ll spend a month trying to get the polyester taste out of his mouth. Unless he can taste enough of Dean to mask it.

There’s a twisting now as Dean tries to shimmy his way to the side and turn around, but Sam is having none of it. He surges forward on his knees and presses Dean more fully against the wall, Rita smiling sultrily at the two of them as Sam manages to get the jumpsuit open all the way to Dean’s waist.

“Sammy. Sammy seriously calm down. You’re acting like-“

Dean shuts up when Sam pulls the material to the side and bites deep into his brother’s right shoulder. He’s interested in marking Dean up. Leaving his claim all over his brother’s skin. And Dean, unable to keep up the smartass banter while Sam is heating up his skin with hickeys, moans and presses back into Sam’s crotch. Sam is hard as a rock, rubbing against his boxers and Dean’s firm ass, and he wonders how long he can wait before stretching Dean open and burying himself inside.

He sucks a line of bruises into Dean’s skin, his right hand rubbing the smooth skin of Dean’s chest and his left working down into Dean’s suit and under the elastic band of his boxers before gripping Dean’s dick. His brother is just as hard as he is, precome already gathering at the head as friction and heat start to work Dean’s body into the same frenzy the sounds coming from his mouth suggest his brain is already at.

 

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/dimeliora/52828457/13668/13668_original.jpg)

Sam pulls his mouth away from Dean’s skin and grabs his brother’s hips. He leverages Dean up and around, falling back onto his ass on the thin mattress and lifting Dean all the way up before settling his brother on his lap. Sam pulls his knee up so his dick has a little more room to move, and so he can manipulate Dean into the position he most wants him.

There’s a noise as he pulls the jump suit all the way down to Dean’s hips and exposes his brother’s torso to the cool air in the cell. Dean sucks in a breath, but Sam doesn’t care. He’ll have Dean’s body heat jumping in just a little bit. In the mean time he twists Dean’s head a little so that his brother is looking at him, and then slips his hand down to Dean’s hip.

“You’re mine. You get that?”

Dean half smiles, not leering or suggestive, something pleased and simple that Sam likes instantly. Completely free of the typical Dean con man confidence and replaced with a sincerity that Sam hasn’t seen in a long time in Dean. At least not in the light. Dean usually saves this sort of honesty for the darkness of the Impala, as the road slips underneath their wheels and random headlights spotlight his expression and give Sam a better understanding of what’s happening in Dean’s brain.

It’s where Dean is most comfortable, it’s home, and Sam wonders if he can express that now because he fits so well in the prison setting, or because the two of them are so close.

“Yeah Sammy. I know.”

He doesn’t argue the nickname, has forgotten to this whole time come to think of it, but that’s ok. He presses his lips against Dean’s and feels his brother’s fingers lace into his hair and pull tight as Dean grinds down onto Sam’s dick. It makes him moan into Dean’s mouth, hand tightening on Dean’s skin and fingers digging in probably too hard. Dean doesn’t complain, but Sam imagines there will be bruises in a few hours that perfectly outline where his fingers were.

And that’s ok. It’s yet another bit of proof for his claim on Dean. He thinks of the group showers, of the men leering at the two of them and getting hateful looks from Dean. Let them see it. Let them wonder about the dynamics of his relationship with Dean.

Sam knows. And that’s all that matters.

Dean lets out a little noise of surprise when Sam swivels his hips upwards and rocks Dean’s entire body with the movement. Sam’s pleased at how hard Dean’s body is, tight lines of muscle straining for more contact, more interaction, and everything in Dean is yearning for Sam to do what he wants. It’s perfection.

He tilts Dean back a little and presses his mouth against Dean’s collarbone before sucking hard against the skin. His brother lets out another cry, unmuffled this time by Sam’s mouth and when Sam slides his hand back into Dean’s boxers he feels the way Dean’s dick jumps every time Sam increases the suction on his brother’s skin.

There’s no stopping him now, brain disengaging and cock taking over. Sam lets go of Dean’s dick to pulls Dean’s mouth back to his again, kissing Dean hard, licking into his brother’s mouth, and trying his hardest to make every part of Dean his.

A stretch, a little drag, and then Sam has the right grip to lift Dean up again as he slides his own ass down the bed roll so that he’s fully reclined. Sam basically bench presses his brother as he pulls Dean backwards on his chest, his brother’s hands scrambling against his skin as he tries to get purchase and stop his backwards movement. It must be unsettling, but Sam can’t think about that right now.

Sam pulls Dean’s ass up enough that Dean gets the idea and plants his knees firmly into the mattress. Then Sam is pulling the jumpsuit the rest of the way so he can mouth at the line of Dean’s dick through his brother’s boxers.

In perfect sync Dean has managed to get enough of Sam’s jumpsuit open to pull Sam’s cock out. He feels the warmth of Dean’s breath against the head of his cock, the wet touch of Dean’s tongue, and then the head of his cock is being swallowed at the same time Sam manages to nuzzle and push Dean’s dick out so it’s exposed to his mouth too. He licks a stripe along the vein on the underside and then uses his mouth to manipulate Dean’s dick into the right angle to suck his brother down.

Dean moans dirtily around Sam’s cock, bobbing his head as he slides his way down and down on Sam’s dick taking more of his little brother in with every movement. Sam knows he’s big. Dean’s no slouch but this is the one thing even his brother can’t joke he beats Sam at, and he loves how enthusiastic Dean is even if it takes his brother a little longer to really get going.

Sam’s mouth is stretched, Dean’s dick sliding between his lips and rubbing against the inside of his cheek due to the angle. He makes sure his teeth are clear of the sensitive head and pushes up until he’s got all of Dean in his mouth. Once he knows Dean is fully seated Sam wiggles his arm through the narrow gap between his head and Dean’s thigh so he can suck two of his own fingers along with Dean’s dick.

There’s a muffled gasp, a wiggle to Dean’s hips as Sam rubs clumsily along the skin he’s sucking on, and then Dean is obviously fighting not to make this uncomfortable and seriously choke Sam. Sam slips the fingers out of his mouth and then slides them back, slipping along the firm skin of Dean’s ass until he finds the familiar texture of Dean’s hole.

And then he’s slipping both fingers into his brother, swallowing as Dean jerks helplessly into his throat, and then breathing deep through his nose while he takes all of Dean in. Dean’s rhythm falters as he fails to suck Sam’s cock in any reliable fashion while he tries to figure out whether to fuck himself on Sam’s fingers or work deeper into Sam’s throat.

Sam doesn’t mind the confusion. Loves that he can make his brother crazy with the same sort of contact they’ve been having since they were teenagers getting to know what they did or didn’t like. It’s hotter for Sam than any standard blowjob to know that he can affect Dean this way.

He would laugh if he wasn’t so turned on, and feels cold air on the wet skin of his dick as Dean’s mouth slips off. Slick lips rub against the skin of his shaft as Dean talks in a broken and thick voice.

“Sam. Sammy. Holy fuck Sammy. What. Jesus. _Jesus_.”

And in response Sam speeds up the motion of his fingers, wiggling them until he hits Dean’s prostate and feels the twist of Dean’s hips as his brother moves into the contact. Dean’s done for, Sam can tell by the stutter of his movements and the gasping of his breaths. He pushes just a little harder, swallowing Dean’s dick with purpose, and then his brother is crying out once loud and desperate before he’s shooting down Sam’s throat.

Dean falls onto Sam’s chest driving the breath out of him, and he turns his head to let Dean’s slowly softening dick slip from his lips.

He’s not sure what he expects, but when Dean rallies enough to suck Sam down and start working him again Sam lets out one low “Dean” before digging his fingers back into his brother’s skin. Dean is working hard, bobbing and sucking, tongue brushing all sorts of places that feel like exposed nerves, and vibrating Sam by moaning deeply.

It doesn’t take long, the exertion of the earlier position, the intensity of Dean’s responses, and now Dean’s talented mouth combine to have Sam gasping and arching his hips in only a few minutes, shooting into Dean and gasping his brother’s name, and Dean swallows it all down.

They lay in the aftermath, Dean’s heavy body draped over him and sweat cooling and drying on exposed skin. Finally Sam manages to nudge at Dean’s hip so his brother rolls off. Dean crawls around so he’s lying behind Sam, the big spoon as he so often is, and then a thin blanket settles over them.

“I didn’t know Rita Hayworth turned you on so much.”

Sam laughs, despite himself, and pulls Deans arms around him a little tighter.

“I’m pretty sure I just made you my prison bitch.”

For a moment Sam isn’t sure if Dean’s amused or pissed off, they can so frequently make a joke that turns ugly, but then Dean bites Sam’s shoulders and rocks against Sam’s ass.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still get the top bunk, and you’re still my bitch in general.”

“Shut up and go to sleep jerk.”


End file.
